I’d trade all my tomorrows for a single yesterday

The popular music world is populated by many musicians who were brought up in musical households with parents who encouraged their interest in artistic expression.

But there are also hundreds of songwriters and musical artists whose parents had other plans for their children and strongly discouraged or even forbade them from pursuing a life in the musical arts.

If Kris Kristofferson‘s parents had had their way, we would have never experienced the pleasure of hearing his wondrous songs or viewing his compelling film performances.

Kristofferson’s father Lars was a major general in the US Air Force, and he wanted his son to follow his footsteps into a lifelong career in the military. For a while, it looked like that might happen when, at age 24, Kristofferson accepted a commission as a lieutenant in the Army and became a helicopter pilot, eventually reaching the rank of captain in 1965. Also a gifted writer, Kristofferson was slated to teach English at West Point, but he declined and instead traded that life to pursue his dream to become a country songwriter in Nashville. His parents were scandalized and disowned him for a while.

“Not many cats I knew bailed out like I did,” Mr. Kristofferson said in a 1970 interview. “When I made the break, I didn’t realize how much I was shocking my folks, because I always thought they knew I was going to be a writer. But I think they thought a writer was a guy in tweeds with a pipe. So I quit and didn’t hear from them for a while. I sure wouldn’t want to go through it again, but it’s part of who I am.”

Kristofferson, who died September 28 at age 88, didn’t experience a seamless transition from military man to songwriter, but he had the innate talent and a lot of perseverance. He had graduated with honors with a degree in literature from Pomona College, and had prizewinning entries in a collegiate short-story contest sponsored by The Atlantic magazine before being awarded a Rhodes scholarship to study English literature at Oxford.

All that formal training didn’t translate at first in the world of country music. His early songs read like classic poetry with perfect grammar, and he had to learn to adapt, using more conversational vocabulary with vernacular terms and real-life experiences. During his time as a janitor at Columbia Records, he absorbed a lot by sneaking into the recording sessions of major artists like Bob Dylan and Johnny Cash. “I had to get better,” Kristofferson said. “I was spending every second I could hanging out and writing and bouncing off the heads of other writers.”

He developed, as a New York Times writer put it, “a keen melodic sensibility and a languid expressiveness that bore little resemblance to the straightforward Hank Williams-derived shuffles he was turning out when he first arrived in Nashville.” He continued evolving over the next few years until he garnered the attention of publishers and artists in town who were impressed with songs like “Sunday Morning Comin’ Down,” perhaps the most poignant hangover song ever written: “Well, I woke up Sunday morning with no way to hold my head that didn’t hurt, /And the beer I had for breakfast wasn’t bad, so I had one more for dessert…”

His diligence paid off. Between 1970 and 1972, the name Kristofferson seemed to be everywhere. Singer Ray Price took his ballad “For the Good Times” to #1 on the country charts and #11 on the Top 40 pop charts, and soul legend Al Green made it a staple of his shows after recording his own version. Cash registered a Country #1 with “Sunday Morning Comin’ Down” a couple months later.

Most significantly, his iconic composition “Me and Bobby McGee” (first recorded by Roger Miller in 1969 and Gordon Lightfoot in 1970) became an international #1 hit when Janis Joplin’s recording of it was released posthumously in 1971. Years later, Kristofferson said, “I remember one of my songwriter friends said, ‘You’ve got such a good song going on there. Why do you have to put that philosophy in there?’ He was referring to the line ‘Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose.’ It turned out to be one of the most memorable lines I ever wrote. So you’d best take your friends’ advice with a grain of salt.”

Concurrently, Kristofferson’s song “Help Me Make It Through the Night” topped country charts and reached #8 on pop charts with singer Sammi Smith’s delicate rendition, which won a Country Song of the Year Grammy for the songwriter.

Kristofferson’s second LP (1971)

All four of these songs appeared on “Kristofferson,” the songwriter’s own recording debut in 1970, but his gruff, uncultured singing voice wasn’t exactly embraced by critics or the public (one writer described it as “pitch-indifferent”). Kristofferson often knocked his own voice. “I don’t think I’m that good a singer,” he said in a 2016 interview. “I can’t think of a song that I’ve written that I don’t like the way somebody else sings it better.” Indeed, although he released more than 15 albums of his own, five of which charted reasonably well on country and pop charts, he had only one successful single, the country gospel tune “Why Me,” which peaked at #16 in 1973.

It turned out to be a fortuitous time to be a songwriter in Nashville, where Kristofferson found himself huddling with with like-minded writers such as Willie Nelson and Roger Miller. “We took it seriously enough to think that our work was important, to think that what we were creating would mean something in the big picture,” he said in a 2006 interview. “Looking back on it, I feel like it was kind of our Paris in the ’20s — real creative and real exciting, and intense.”

Kyle Young, the CEO of the Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum, had this to say this past week: “Kris Kristofferson believed to his core that creativity is God-given, and that those who ignore or deflect such a holy gift are doomed to failure and unhappiness. He preached that a life of the mind gives voice to the soul, and then he created a body of work that gave voice not only to his soul but to ours. Kris’s heroes included the prize fighter Muhammad Ali, the great poet William Blake, and the ‘Hillbilly Shakespeare,’ Hank Williams. He lived his life in a way that honored and exemplified the values of each of those men, and he leaves a righteous, courageous and resounding legacy that rings with theirs.”

Author Bill Malone noted in “Country Music, U.S.A.,” the standard history of the genre, “Kristofferson’s lyrics spoke often of loneliness, alienation and pain, but they also celebrated freedom and honest relationships, and in intimate, sensuous language that had been rare to country music.”

I wholeheartedly agree. Consider these lines from his 1974 song “Shandy (The Perfect Disguise)”: “‘Cause nightmares are somebody’s daydreams, /Daydreams are somebody’s lies, /Lies ain’t no harder than telling the truth, /Truth is the perfect disguise…”

He could also be quite provocative, as in these lyrics from the title tune from his 1972 LP: “Jesus was a Capricorn, he ate organic food, /He believed in love and peace and never wore no shoes, /Long hair, beard and sandals, and a funky bunch of friends, I reckon we’d just nail him up if he came down again…”

Coolidge and Kristofferson at home in Malibu in 1974

In 1971, he developed a personal and professional relationship with singer Rita Coolidge, marrying her and recording a handful of albums with her (“Full Moon” in 1973, “Breakaway” in 1974 and “Natural Act” in 1978) that reached the Top 20 on country charts. The couple won two Grammys (Best Country Vocal Performance by a Duo) for “From the Bottle to the Bottom” in 1973 and “Lover Please” in 1975. They would divorce in 1980 but remained friends and occasionally performed together.

Said Coolidge last week, “Kris was a wonderful man and an extraordinary songwriter. He’s been a close friend of mine and the father of my daughter. We had a volatile marriage, but I have nothing but glowing things to say about him today.” In her 2016 autobiography, “Delta Lady,” she bemoaned his drinking, his verbal abuse and his infidelities, but concluded, “Everything we did was larger than life. I never laughed with anybody in my life like I did with Kris. When it was good, I was over-the-moon happy, but when it was sad, it was almost too much to bear.”

Kristofferson’s acting career took off in 1973 when Sam Peckinpaugh cast him as outlaw Billy the Kid in “Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid,” in which Coolidge also appeared. Martin Scorsese concurred that Kristofferson’s rugged good looks and magnetism lent themselves to the big screen, and cast him as the male lead alongside Ellen Burstyn in the critically acclaimed 1974 drama “Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore.”

When Barbra Streisand was unable to secure Elvis Presley as her co-star in the 1976 remake of “A Star is Born,” her next choice was Kristofferson, who won a Golden Globe for his turn as John Norman Howard, a singer on the downside of his career who ends up killing himself in a drunk-driving incident. Kristofferson, who had described himself as “a functioning alcoholic,” said he was so disturbed by the scene where Streisand’s character tends to his dead body, he quit drinking in real life. “I remember feeling that that could very easily be my wife and kids crying over me,” he said in the 1980s. “I quit drinking over that. I didn’t want to die before my daughter grew up.”

He followed that experience with “Semi-Tough,” the sports comedy film opposite Burt Reynolds and Jill Clayburgh, but his movie career suffered in 1980 when he starred in Michael Cimino’s epic Western, “Heaven’s Gate,” one of the biggest box-office disasters in Hollywood history. Kristofferson fared reasonably well in the reviews, but the movie itself was so mercilessly panned that anyone involved with it found themselves unhirable for years to come. It would be another 15 years before he regained his footing in John Sayles’ Oscar-nominated “Lone Star.”

Kristofferson in “Heaven’s Gate” in 1980

He attracted a new generation of fans for his portrayal of mentor/father figure Abraham Whistler in Marvel’s first successful film, “Blade,” and its two sequels. Indeed, many superhero movie fans of the late 1990s and early 2000s had no idea that Kristofferson had another career as a singer-songwriter, which he found rather amusing. “I was doing a show in Sweden, and somebody backstage mentioned to me, ‘Hey Kris, there are all these kids out there saying, ‘Geez, Whistler sings?'”

When he experienced a dry spell in both acting and songwriting in the early ’80s, he found solace in his friends in the music business. Kristofferson teamed up with Waylon Jennings, Willie Nelson and Cash to record “Highwayman,” Jimmy Webb’s marvelous song about a soul with four incarnations in different places in time and history. It became a multiplatinum hit that inspired a full album by the foursome, who came to be known as The Highwaymen. They capitalized on the favorable commercial and critical response by recording more albums and touring multiple times over the next decade. Kristofferson later marvelled, “I always looked up to all of those legends, and I felt like I was kind of a kid who had climbed up on Mount Rushmore and stuck his face out there!”

He often talked about how grateful he is to the established songwriters and singers in Nashville who took him under their wing when he was new to town. In comparison, he noted, “Those shows like ‘American Idol’ are kind of scary to me. They wanted me to be on one of those panels one time, and I said it’s the last thing in the world I’d ever want to do. I would hate to have to discourage somebody.”

Cash and Kristofferson on TV in 1977

His legacy as a songwriter is cemented by the number and diversity of artists who have admired his material enough to record it. In addition to Johnny Cash, Janis Joplin, Ray Price, Rita Coolidge, Roger Miller, Gordon Lightfoot, Sammi Smith and Al Green, you can hear strong covers of Kristofferson songs by The Grateful Dead, Frank Sinatra, Willie Nelson, Gladys Knight and The Pips, Elvis Presley, Dolly Parton, Wilson Pickett, Charley Pride, Olivia Newton-John, Ronnie Milsap, Tina Turner, Glen Campbell, Bryan Adams, Joan Baez, Jerry Lee Lewis, Emmylou Harris, Michael Bublé and Thelma Houston.

Streisand said recently, “At a concert in 2019 at London’s Hyde Park, I asked Kris to join me on stage to sing our other ‘A Star Is Born’ duet, ‘Lost Inside Of You.’ He was as charming as ever, and the audience showered him with applause. It was a joy seeing him receive the recognition and love he so richly deserved.”

Kristofferson was married to his third wife, Lisa, for more than 40 years, from 1983 until his death. He had a total of eight children from his three marriages, and seven grandchildren. When asked about his family in 2016, he said, “When I was thirty, and a long time after that, I felt like I had to leave home to do what I had to do. Now, it’s just the opposite.”

Kristofferson in 2017

Bypass surgery in 1999 slowed Kristofferson down, as did an extended bout with Lyme disease in the decade that followed, but he remained active into his 80s. On his final album of new material, 2013’s “Feeling Mortal,” the title song sums up Kristofferson’s feelings near the end of his life: “Here today and gone tomorrow, that’s the way it’s got to be, /God Almighty, here I am, /Am I where I ought to be? /I’ve begun to soon descend like the sun into the sea…”

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Hate’s going around breaking many hearts

“Hate is too great a burden to bear. It ultimately injures the hater more than it injures the hated.” — Coretta Scott King

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It’s a very strong word, hate.

Psychologists tell us hate is typically caused by things or people we’re afraid of, don’t know about, don’t understand, or make us angry. It’s easier, they say, to simply dismiss them and say we hate them than to learn about them and conquer whatever it is we fear or don’t understand.

I try not to use the word these days. We have too many hate groups, hate crime, hate speech. Our political scene has turned into a breeding ground for hate.

God knows I’ve used the word a lot over the years, often about things I don’t truly hate. It’s just easier to say “I hate Brussels sprouts” when all I really mean is “I don’t like how they taste.” I used to say, “I hate Pittsburgh Steelers fans,” but in truth, I respect their love for and loyalty to their team, and only hate them when they beat up on my team, the Cleveland Browns.

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“Hate is only a form of love that hasn’t found a way to express itself logically.” — Li’l Wayne

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I recently saw a book whose title made me laugh: “I Hate New Music.” It’s a tongue-in-cheek “Classic Rock Manifesto” from 2008 by a British music writer named Dave Thomson who disparages any music made after about 1980. I wouldn’t say I recommend it, but it’s fairly amusing in its own hateful way.

In this blog, I discuss rock music of the ’50s, ’60s, ’70s and ’80s, otherwise known as the “classic rock” era. Some have teased (accused) me of not liking more recent music, which is absolutely not true. I buy and listen to quite a lot of music from the 1990s, 2000s, 2010s and 2020s. I’m just not as passionate about it nor as well versed in it to write about it as confidently as the music of earlier decades.

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“When I hear music that parents hate, I know that’s the new music. When I hear older people say, ‘I hate rap or techno,’ I rush to it.” – George Clinton

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Jeff Tweedy, the prolific songwriter and frontman for the popular alternative rock band Wilco, wrote a recent essay with this provocative subject: ”Can we hate, truly hate, music? And if so, why?”

Here’s what Tweedy has to say about it:

“It’s important to admit when you’re wrong. And though I once bristled at the notion that there could ever be such a thing as a wrong musical opinion, I have since come to accept that there is, in fact, such a thing. I know because I had one: I was colossally wrong about the song “Dancing Queen” by Abba.

“In a way, I blame the time and place where I grew up. The mid-1970s, when “Dancing Queen” came out, was a time when there were very strict lines being drawn between cultural camps. As a kid who liked punk rock, this tune was situated deep in enemy territory, at the intersection of pop and disco.

“In particular, my group of friends and I despised a lot of music and, by extension, the morons who would dare admit that they liked something we hated.  (Music! Can you believe it?

“Why did we feel this way? Mostly, I think, it was because hating certain music gave us a way of defining ourselves. Our identities were indistinct, and drawing a line in the sand between what we liked and what we hated made our young hearts feel whole.

“But I had, in fact, chosen to deny myself an undeniable joy. Countless fantastic records and deep grooves were dismissed and derided out of ignorance. To this day, whenever I think I dislike a piece of music, I think about “Dancing Queen” and am humbled.

“That song taught me that I can’t ever completely trust my negative reactions. I try to never listen to music now without first examining my own mind and politely asking whatever blind spots I’m afflicted with to move aside long enough for my gut to be the judge. Even then, if I conclude I don’t like something, I make a mental note to try it again in 10 years.”

This is good advice. 

I, too, recall being a rather obstinate teenager when it came to deciding which bands to hold dear and which to disparage. With some artists, I rushed to judgment without really having judged at all. I hadn’t even listened to the music in question. I just assumed I wouldn’t like it, and in so doing, I cut myself off from things without ever testing/experimenting.

Consequently, I can’t say I truly hated these groups. I just wallowed in my ignorance about their music, choosing instead to confine myself to a more narrow list of artists. Maybe it seemed overwhelming to me at the time to try every item on the menu, so to speak. I could afford to buy only so many records, and I would choose based on what I heard on the radio or from friends’ recommendations. 

I developed preferences for certain musical genres — rock ‘n’ roll, blues, R&B, folk — and within each genre, I embraced maybe a dozen artists/bands and dismissed the others. 

I still am not a big fan of certain musical styles — hip hop, or opera, or death metal — and I probably never will be. I’m also not wild about country, but I’ve come to enjoy some artists, or a few of their songs, anyway. Hey, my tastes are not rigid; they have changed over the years.

All this reflecting on “things we hate” prompted me to research the word “hate” and how often it turns up in song titles. It’s probably not surprising that you’ll find far more “hate” songs in recent years than you’ll find in the catalog of ’60s and ’70s songs. Lyrics these days can be so nasty and hate-filled, sometimes simply to demonstrate youthful rebellion, but also sometimes to demonstrate bonafide hate for something or someone.

Let’s take a cursory look at 15 songs with “hate” in the title, from the mid-’60s to the present, and another nine runners-up. I’m hoping that when you listen to the Spotify playlist at the end, you won’t find any that you really, um, hate. But I wouldn’t bet the ranch on that.

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“Thin Line Between Love and Hate,” The Persuaders, 1971

The New York-based R&B vocal group The Persuaders had a #15 pop hit (#1 on the R&B chart) in 1971 with this iconic tune, which tells the story about a man coming home early in the morning to his understanding wife one too many times. She loves him, but when pushed to the brink by his selfish, neglectful behavior, she snaps, and he finds himself lying in a hospital, bandaged from head to foot: “It’s a thin line between love and hate, she’s gonna fool you one day, /It’s a thin line between love and hate, /Every smilin’ face ain’t a happy one…”

“I May Hate You Sometimes,” The Posies, 1988

Singer-songwriters Jon Auer and Ken Stringfellow were the core behind the underrated Seattle-based power pop group The Posies, who made only the smallest of blips on the U.S. music scene in the late ’80s and early ’90s. Their 1988 debut LP “Failure” includes this catchy track that captures the mixed emotions when you seem to be loving and hating someone at the same time: “I don’t want to have to sacrifice to have to get along, /I don’t ever want to be the one to say I’m wrong, /I may hate you sometimes, but I’ll always love you…”

“I Love You Honey But I Hate Your Friends,” Cheap Trick, 1980

Combining elements of ’60s guitar pop, ’70s hard rock and the emerging punk rock sound, Cheap Trick emerged from Illinois in 1977 and enjoyed several commercial successes, particularly in 1978 (a live version of “I Want You to Want Me”) and 1979 (“Dream Police”). On their 1980 release “All Shook Up,” the band wrote a track that addressed the age-old problem of falling in love with someone and then finding out you don’t like your heartthrob’s friends: “We shouldn’t give them the time of day, /They don’t give a damn if we sink or swim, /I love you, honey, but I hate your friends, /They love your money, but they’ll be the end of me, oh yeah…”

“Hatred,” The Kinks, 1993

Except perhaps for Liam and Noel Gallagher of Oasis, there is no greater sibling rivalry in the history of rock music than Ray and Dave Davies of The Kinks. As frontman and chief songwriter, Ray called almost all the shots, but guitarist Dave always bristled at his brother’s need for control. Ray finally wrote about their dysfunctional relationship for their final LP, 1993’s “Phobia,” in a track ironically titled “Hatred (A Duet)”: “Now, I’m willing to accept this fate, you and me just can’t cohabitate, /We agree to hate and that’s our fast decision, /Hatred, hatred is the only thing that keeps us together…”

“Eye Hate U,” Prince, 1995

Released as the lead single from his 1995 album “The Gold Experience,” Prince said he wrote “Eye Hate U” with actress Carmen Elektra in mind. He’d been growing close to her but found out she was seeing someone else and felt betrayed enough to write this R&B piece with vitriolic lyrics (some sung, some spoken), and recorded several versions. I chose the one with the prettiest arrangement to offset the bitterness of the words: “Say U’re sorry if U wanna, but it’s all in vain, /I’m out the door, sweet baby, that’s right, we’re through, /I hate U because I love U, /But I can’t love U because I hate U…”

“Hateful Hate,” 10,000 Maniacs, 1989

Whereas 10,000 Maniacs’ previous LP, 1987’s “In My Tribe,” explored series issues with a prevailing sense of hope and optimism, their “Blind Man’s Zoo” album in 1989 was dominated instead by a bleak worldview as expressed by chief lyricist/singer Natalie Merchant. In “Hateful Hate,” she explores the subject of slavery as a brutal betrayal of the human spirit: “Captured like human livestock, destined for slavery, /Naked, walked to the shore, where great ships moored for the hellbound journeys, /Bought and sold with a hateful hate…”

“Hateful,” The Clash, 1979

According to one critic, The Clash’s double LP “London Calling” from late 1979 “finally validates the acclaim received up to that point because of how their serious political themes and vital playing were retained in innovative music with a broad appeal.” The LP captures the band’s primal energy within a more creative context barely suggested by the band’s previous work. Here’s a sample of lyric from “Hateful”: “Oh, anything I want, he gives it to me, /Anything I want, he gives it, but not for free, /It’s hateful, and it’s paid for, and I’m so grateful to be nowhere…”

“I Will Forever Hate Roses,” Dolly Parton, 2008

For a woman who has composed 3,000 songs and recorded more than 50 albums in her extraordinary career, you might expect her creative muse to have dissipated by the time of her 42nd LP, “Backwoods Barbie,” in 2008, but you’d be wrong. Consider her heartfelt emotions in this tune when she received a bouquet of roses as a farewell gesture: “You sent me roses, I thought it was nice, /Opened the card and it read ‘goodbye,’ /You’re movin’ on as this chapter closes, and I will forever hate roses…”

“We’re Gonna Hate Ourselves in the Morning,” Clifford Curry, 1967

Arthur Alexander — who also wrote “Anna (Go to Him),” which was covered on The Beatles’ debut LP — was a cornerstone of the Muscle Shoals sound, part gospel and part country, that was ideally suited to gritty, confessional storytelling. His classic song about infidelity reached the charts in Betty Wright’s version, and was also deftly covered by country soul artist Clifford Curry: “We’ll just hate ourselves in the morning, /We’re gonna hate ourselves, I know, /We’re gonna hate ourselves in the morning, /But right now, it’s still the night…”

“Hate This Place,” Goo Goo Dolls, 1998

From their founding in Buffalo in 1986 until the late ’90s, The Goo Goo Dolls struggled to find an audience. Their breakthrough came with their polished sixth LP, 1998’s “Dizzy Up the Girl,” which yielded two multiplatinum singles, “Iris” and “Slide.” On a mostly upbeat album, the closing tune, “Hate This Place,” is decidedly downbeat and pessimistic: “Gone away, who knows where you been?, /But you take all your lies and wish them all away, /I somehow doubt we’ll ever be the same, /There’s too much poison and confusion on your face…”

“I Hate Music,” The Replacements, 1981

Although they are lionized as pioneers of the alternative rock genre in the mid-to-late 1980s, The Replacements’ debut LP in 1981, “Sorry Ma, Forgot to Take Out the Trash,” was squarely rooted in punk. Guitarist/singer/songwriter Paul Westerberg wrote 18 frenetic tracks, most lasting less than two minutes each. One of its most nihilistic tunes was the self-deprecating “I Hate Music,” in which he pillories his school, his father and music in general: “I hate music, sometimes I don’t, /I hate music, it’s got too many notes, /I hate music turnin’ me on, I hate music…”

“I Hate to Love Her,” Sly & The Family Stone, 1967

The psychedelic soul, funk and R&B that Sly and The Family Stone was known for was largely effervescent, fun and positive (“Hot Fun in the Summertime,” “Dance to the Music”) when they started out in San Francisco in 1967, which makes this darker track from their debut album rather surprising in contrast. “I Hate to Love Her” is full of self-doubt, loathing and a dead-end relationship: “It’s all about my baby, It’s all about my…, /Why won’t she be honest and leave me behind to get over her, /I hate to love her, I must hate myself, /I hate to love her, it’s bad for my health…”

“If You Would Hate Me Less, I’d Love You More,” Billy Squier, 1998

From 1981 to 1985, Squier was an arena rock star with multiple Top Ten albums and ubiquitous singles like “The Stroke,” “My Kinda Lover” and “Rock Me Tonite.” He fell out of favor after that, and soured on his label and the industry in general. After a period of inactivity, he released “Happy Blue” in 1998, a stylistic and sonic departure which featured Squier alone on acoustic guitar doing blues-based tunes. One of the best was the reflective “If You Would Hate Me Less, I’d Love You More,” on which he yearns to be treated better: “Your daggers wound me deeply, but if you would hurt me less, I’d soothe you more, /I would give myself so cheaply, if you could hate me less, I’d love you more…”

“I Hate My Frickin’ I.S.P.,” Todd Rundgren, 2000

You’ve gotta love Rundgren, one of the most inventive, quirkiest artists in the rock music pantheon. While he had his share of commercial successes, especially early in his career, he has championed a fierce individuality and experimental nature in the studio that didn’t always sell well. He was in the vanguard of digital recording and interactive art, and on his 2000 album “One Long Year,” he opened with the whimsical “I Hate My Frickin’ I.S.P.” to express his early frustration with the Internet: “And I hate my frickin’ I.S.P., /He ain’t got no bandwidth left for me, /And I’ll never get back, never get back the time that I waste, /That’s what I hate…”

“Hate For Sale,” The Pretenders, 2020

Chrissie Hynde has always been widely praised as a rock ‘n roll badass, writing chip-on-her-shoulder music that alternated between hard-edged and sweetly melodic. She and The Pretenders haven’t exactly been prolific, releasing only 12 albums in 40 years, but they have toured relentlessly, and their 2020 LP “Hate For Sale” finds Hynde as relevant and talented as ever. Consider the lyrics of the title track, which seem to describe a certain political candidate: “Call it luck or inherited title, a guy like that is arrogant, idle, /He won’t get hung or go to jail, he’s got a curly tongue and a curly tail, /But mostly, he has hate for sale…”

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Honorable mentions:

“When Love and Hate Collide,” Def Leppard, 1995; “You Love Me to Hate You,” KISS, 1989; “I Hate Boys,” Christine Aguilera, 2010; “High Price of Hate,” Toto, 1999; “Wasting My Hate,” Metallica, 1996; “Cool to Hate,” The Offspring, 1997; “I Hate My Generation,” Cracker, 1996; “I Hate Rock ‘n Roll,” Jesus and Mary Chain, 1995; “I Hate Everything About You,” Three Days Grace, 2003.